[Changeling IC] Time's Wings: Dark Omens

[Elanorin]

The King of Summer walked towards you. "Did you know," he said, voice low and dark, "there is no Faerie magic that can compel the truth? Maybe it's opposed to their very nature. Maybe if they had to tell the truth they'd cease to exist. So, how can I trust you? How can I trust any of you?"

It wasn't clear if he was talking to himself or not.

"Well, the way I see it, there's a simple solution that cuts through all of that. See, the Kindly Folk -" he uses that name for them, still. Even this man, as deeply possessed of rage as any soul on this earth, still fears to address them insultingly. "they know pain, they teach their servants to know pain. They can inflict every kind of suffering or deprivation imaginable, every emotional and physical agony. But." He picked up a small coin in gloved hands.

You know instinctively that's iron. And you know that it hates you.

"They don't know the pain of iron," said the King.

He held it out.

"Take this. Hold onto it. And then tell me why I should trust you."

"I'm not asking you to trust me, Your Grace," Lily said simply, finding her eyes drawn back to meet his once more by a courage that felt cold and sticky in her stomach. Not the way courage ever felt before. Perhaps it was something else. "I don't see the point. I have never known trust to come on command."

"But do we have to trust each other to find use for one another? I seek your truce. For myself and my friends, including Aelas. In return I offer my service. I understand the urgent need to root out the traitor and will gladly arrange all the particulars for the meeting you called, and anything else to aid their capture, but me and my friends arrived only days ago and correct me if I am wrong, Your Grace, but the damage was long done by then, was it not?"

She could feel her heart beating fast in her chest, the hairs on her arms stood on end and the urge to run was screaming in her aching muscles.

"I-if you require me to hold iron then I will," she reached out her hand, palm up. It was visibly trembling but ready to receive the coin if he chose to tip it in to her hand. "It might convince you that I am invested. That I will go to great lengths for the safety of my friends, perhaps even that I can endure pain. But what it won't do is magically make you trust me."

Her eyes went to the coin in his hand and despite the overwhelming heat blazing over her from the furnaces her skin went cold and she swallowed hard.

[Raz_Fox]

Our Pilgrim, he rolls his eyes. Well, he doesn't. He can't. But that's the muscle memory, and the shift in his thaw-slicked cheeks, and the flicker of the ghost candles that lie deep within his dark head. Because what he's hearing is the implicit reminder that the auction is, ultimately, up to whoever finds the best way to cheat.

Edmund would shove his hands deeper in his pockets and complain that the Courts weren't his trouble anyhow, and Lily would pay someone off in a chain of deals that led inexorably to the sack being chosen, and Aelas would ask the dog very nicely to pick her sack pretty please? But Isaac is the beast of the wild, and he's not stupid for all that he looks it right now.

He waits until the dog's sniffing the offer from the Court, and then- as if to himself, or to the goblin offering the deal, or some other- he growls. Low and deep and terrible in his throat. A primal sound, the sort that he'd use when there was some bronze-scaled serpent draped across the branches on the road, or a pack of dark beasts with white eyes, and he needed to establish exactly what and who he was.

(Between you and me, both sides of the encounter were supposed to rely upon rhetoric and declarations of virtue. You and I both know how quickly that devolves into baring teeth and quiet reminders of strength.)

It's the sort of sound that will either send the dog running into the crowd and give Jack time to steal the doggy treat from the proffering goblin, or will convince the dog to bark at its foe and, coincidentally, the sack.

[Here's my bid: Manipulation+Intimidation(+Mantle), planning to spend WP.]

[Anarion]

"I don't know," said Static. "Nobody knows. Nobody here speaks Russian. Don't know where she is from. Or what she wants. I think she is trying to tell us something."

The gargoyle looks a bit uncomfortable saying that many words all at once. "Did you want to see the king?"

"I uh...hm, not sure?" Aelas looks around. "Where did Lily go? I was coming with her, but if the King is gonna get mad and set everything on fire when he sees me again, maybe I should wait until she's done? I want him to know he's got the wrong girl though, I didn't kidnap anyone but you by complete and total accident. Who's he looking for anyway, though? Maybe I can find them instead, so he'll know it wasn't me!"

[TheAmishPirate]

"You can't have that one, that's my great nephew's house and I couldn't ask him to move..." said Gustav. Then he looks at you, makes eye contact, and with the relentless confidence of a man who has just realized he's been caught in a lie but admitting it would literally kill him. He walks it back with grace. "... and it's also Edgar's former emporium. Which I want to remain closed for sentimental reasons. But tell you what, my nephew is a scumbag and he's ruining the dilapidation of the emporium, I'll kick him out for you. What do you say?"

Edmund briefly considered pushing his advantage here, maybe knock a few more percent off, but he'd just had a first-hand demonstration of both the risks of overplaying one's hand, and the utter shamelessness that is Gustav. Better to play to caution, give a curt nod, and keep up the momentum.

"The bay's crowded with tourist spots, armed with deeper purses and dug-in positions. We'd get eaten alive there. But while the bay's the draw, it's not actually that central." He traced a circle with his finger around the chosen spot; it covered a decent portion of the town and - more importantly - the residential districts. "Give up the tourists who don't want to walk, gain the entire off-season. Like you said; there's no good places to eat around here. A small band of regulars could easily hold the line until the seasons turn."

Not to mention the thought of catering exclusively to large, loud, screaming crowds made his throat tighten, his nerves shaking. A nice, homey establishment. That's what he wanted.

[Thanqol]

[Here's my bid: Manipulation+Intimidation(+Mantle), planning to spend WP.]

It's a good idea, roll at no penalty. However, since you're rolling Intimidate and not Animal Ken you won't be able to get the dog to sit down at the right spot without an Exceptional Success - otherwise you just scare it away and create an opportunity for Jack to steal the treat and plant it in the bag.

(And it is a roll to pick the pocket of a Goblin because they always expect their pockets to be picked - and in fact, will likely be in the process of reflexively picking each others pockets the moment any sort of distraction raises its head. It's a +3 for the distraction and a -6 for stealing from a crowd of shifty-eyed conmen, so Jack make the dexterity+larceny roll at -3 total)

"I-if you require me to hold iron then I will," she reached out her hand, palm up. It was visibly trembling but ready to receive the coin if he chose to tip it in to her hand. "It might convince you that I am invested. That I will go to great lengths for the safety of my friends, perhaps even that I can endure pain. But what it won't do is magically make you trust me."

Her eyes went to the coin in his hand and despite the overwhelming heat blazing over her from the furnaces her skin went cold and she swallowed hard.

Roll manipulation+persuasion at a -5 - but with +2 for not challenging his authority, so only -3 total.

"I uh...hm, not sure?" Aelas looks around. "Where did Lily go? I was coming with her, but if the King is gonna get mad and set everything on fire when he sees me again, maybe I should wait until she's done? I want him to know he's got the wrong girl though, I didn't kidnap anyone but you by complete and total accident. Who's he looking for anyway, though? Maybe I can find them instead, so he'll know it wasn't me!"

"Forklift," said Static. "We have to walk."

And walk she begins to do, taking up a scarf that looks like it was knitted by the babushka and wraps it firmly around her face and nose. I do recommend you do something similar because you're going to stink town.

"It'd be simpler if we knew who the King wanted," admits Static.

Edmund briefly considered pushing his advantage here, maybe knock a few more percent off, but he'd just had a first-hand demonstration of both the risks of overplaying one's hand, and the utter shamelessness that is Gustav. Better to play to caution, give a curt nod, and keep up the momentum.

"The bay's crowded with tourist spots, armed with deeper purses and dug-in positions. We'd get eaten alive there. But while the bay's the draw, it's not actually that central." He traced a circle with his finger around the chosen spot; it covered a decent portion of the town and - more importantly - the residential districts. "Give up the tourists who don't want to walk, gain the entire off-season. Like you said; there's no good places to eat around here. A small band of regulars could easily hold the line until the seasons turn."

Not to mention the thought of catering exclusively to large, loud, screaming crowds made his throat tighten, his nerves shaking. A nice, homey establishment. That's what he wanted.

"Shooting for mediocrity, huh kid?" said Gustav, cutting right to the chase. "You want to give up on any dreams of fame and fortune and cook meals for nobodies in the heart of nowhere all your life? Huh? You don't have any faith in me, the greatest partner in business a man could ask for? You insulting me? You saying you don't trust me to get you a swanky touristy spot and make you rich?"

[stveje]

It's a good idea, roll at no penalty. However, since you're rolling Intimidate and not Animal Ken you won't be able to get the dog to sit down at the right spot without an Exceptional Success - otherwise you just scare it away and create an opportunity for Jack to steal the treat and plant it in the bag.

(And it is a roll to pick the pocket of a Goblin because they always expect their pockets to be picked - and in fact, will likely be in the process of reflexively picking each others pockets the moment any sort of distraction raises its head. It's a +3 for the distraction and a -6 for stealing from a crowd of shifty-eyed conmen, so Jack make the dexterity+larceny roll at -3 total)

Dex+Larceny-3 = 5 : 8, 4, 4, 7, 8

Jack knows this trick. Jack good at this trick. Jack get treat, yes? Jack good boy, yes?

[Elanorin]

Roll manipulation+persuasion at a -5 - but with +2 for not challenging his authority, so only -3 total.

+1 for Striking Looks and Spending 1 Willpower for +3: 6, 8, 3, 10 (ten again: 3)

[TheAmishPirate]

"Shooting for mediocrity, huh kid?" said Gustav, cutting right to the chase. "You want to give up on any dreams of fame and fortune and cook meals for nobodies in the heart of nowhere all your life? Huh? You don't have any faith in me, the greatest partner in business a man could ask for? You insulting me? You saying you don't trust me to get you a swanky touristy spot and make you rich?"

Edmund had put up with quite a bit already; slanderous remarks on his cooking, numerous attempts to fleece him out of all the money he'd ever touch in his life, countless bald-faced lies, and poor table manners. He'd endured the lot of it in stride, giving no ground to his enemy. All that is to say what came next marked a dangerously rapid change in atmosphere.

Finger still on the map, his head rose slow, ponderous, to meet the shyster's gaze. Unseen by mortal eyes, a cloak of deep scarlet billowed out behind him, as armored plate scraped against armored plate, with the first, warning rumbles of an avalanche. The full weight of his righteous authority - his by right of unlikely and un-asked for survival - bore down mercilessly upon the presumptive scoundrel. When he finally deigned to speak, to make concrete his intent and banish horrible, infinite possibility, he ought to be thanked for his mercy. "Yeah. That's what I want." He said flatly, unblinking. "Do we have a problem?"

[Edmund would like to Intimidate this punk via stare-down, with the goal of getting him to drop this line of questioning like the hottest of potatoes. Preferably also without inviting retribution via negotiations, but I'll take what the dice give me. Presence + Intimidation + Specialty (Stare Down) = 8 die, before penalties/bonuses.]

[Raz_Fox]

It’s a low, primal, bottom-of-the-gut sound. It’s the sound of something big and dangerous shifting its bulk and you can’t see it in the dark but it’s letting you know it’s there, and pray to whatever God you put your trust in that it’s not hungry. It’s the Crocodile doing lazy laps around the pirate king’s boat, inexorable even without time sticking in its craw.

It would be prudent, Jack, to be thankful that the Pilgrim is your friend. He would be an enemy not to be crossed.

[2 Successes, no Willpower spent, and boy howdy was I scared when I saw five failures and- oh, that’s not a 0, that’s a 10, whew.]

[Thanqol]

+1 for Striking Looks and Spending 1 Willpower for +3: 6, 8, 3, 10 (ten again: 3)

The King drops the iron fragment.

You feel it sizzle as it scorches by your hand, barely missing it.

"I don't need a mutilated servant," he said. You feel the skein of the Wyrd twist around you, binding your oath with magic. This at least, you can both trust. Or, if not trust, be satisfied that betrayal will be met with retribution - and that's as vindicating as trust.

(You phrased the oath well. It doesn't bind you to open-ended servitude, it only binds you to your service with regards to organizing meetings and uncovering traitors. But woe will betide you if you act with sloth on either of those topics.)

"So. Tell me what you know. Tell me what you will do. And tell me how you will do it quickly," said the King. "I cannot abide traitors under my roof."

Edmund had put up with quite a bit already; slanderous remarks on his cooking, numerous attempts to fleece him out of all the money he'd ever touch in his life, countless bald-faced lies, and poor table manners. He'd endured the lot of it in stride, giving no ground to his enemy. All that is to say what came next marked a dangerously rapid change in atmosphere.

Finger still on the map, his head rose slow, ponderous, to meet the shyster's gaze. Unseen by mortal eyes, a cloak of deep scarlet billowed out behind him, as armored plate scraped against armored plate, with the first, warning rumbles of an avalanche. The full weight of his righteous authority - his by right of unlikely and un-asked for survival - bore down mercilessly upon the presumptive scoundrel. When he finally deigned to speak, to make concrete his intent and banish horrible, infinite possibility, he ought to be thanked for his mercy. "Yeah. That's what I want." He said flatly, unblinking. "Do we have a problem?"

[Edmund would like to Intimidate this punk via stare-down, with the goal of getting him to drop this line of questioning like the hottest of potatoes. Preferably also without inviting retribution via negotiations, but I'll take what the dice give me. Presence + Intimidation + Specialty (Stare Down) = 8 die, before penalties/bonuses.]

Roll it at -2; despite the grandeur of his gazebos Gustav is rather generic when it comes to gladly gazing into glares.

It’s a low, primal, bottom-of-the-gut sound. It’s the sound of something big and dangerous shifting its bulk and you can’t see it in the dark but it’s letting you know it’s there, and pray to whatever God you put your trust in that it’s not hungry. It’s the Crocodile doing lazy laps around the pirate king’s boat, inexorable even without time sticking in its craw.

It would be prudent, Jack, to be thankful that the Pilgrim is your friend. He would be an enemy not to be crossed.

[2 Successes, no Willpower spent, and boy howdy was I scared when I saw five failures and- oh, that’s not a 0, that’s a 10, whew.]

Dex+Larceny-3 = 5 : 8, 4, 4, 7, 8

Jack knows this trick. Jack good at this trick. Jack get treat, yes? Jack good boy, yes?

The great wallet shuffle in the crowd happens. The hardest part for Jack isn't picking the pocket, it's evading the hand that's already picking it. Treats are acquired. Dogs are bribed. The Goblin Market gives a grumbling whisper about bringing their own scary monkeys to the next auctions and the next time you do this it will be to the face of whatever leering monsters the Market can dredge up to try and spook a small dog. Blunt mass replication without understanding of taste or subtlety is how the Market learns.

A bearded ballet dancer curtsies as she presents you with the title deed to Prosperpine. It's a rather short scroll which simply states that 'The Gentry and their creatures will find no rest nor roofing on the mortal side of the divide'. A useful thing to have.

*

"Son of a gun," whispers Mercia to herself as she spies it.

That contract right there has caused her no end of misery. Days spent slamming down coffee and standing awake at three AM waiting for someone to wake the hell up. She almost wants to put aside this entire hunt and destroy it. Her hand strays to her sword. She just might.

[TheAmishPirate]

Roll it at -2; despite the grandeur of his gazebos Gustav is rather generic when it comes to gladly gazing into glares.

Gladly!

...wait, darn, already used that one.

[With the -2, that takes us to 6 die: 5, 10, 2, 6, 7, 8 (10-again: 6) for a total of 2 successes. Gustav has found himself a minefield and would be wise to backpedal out of it.]

[Raz_Fox]

Finally. It’s done and sealed. The Pilgrim softens, almost imperceptibly, but I’d daresay our friend Jack would notice the way the hiply-dressed man no longer seems quite on edge, quite as driven. Which is not to say he doesn’t still wish to find some way of trapping a gift for the King of Summer- indeed, that should still be done. But no one can steal the gifts of the Freehold from under his attention now; no one can swoop in with a king’s ransom and snatch it from his gnarled hands; no calamity can cause him to miss the auction entirely.

The responsibility, the awareness of how many ways things could go wrong, and for how many people his actions were meant to benefit, how many had sacrificed to win that contract: these things were needles in the bones, pricking him to ill-temper and worry. Now the contract rests against his skin, where it cannot be easily stolen, and slowly warms to the beat of his charcoaled heart.

“Done,” he says, and then, a single nod to the assembled audience. He places one huge hand upon Jack’s shoulder and steers him from the crowd, intent on ambling through the Market until he found something that struck him like anvil and tongs, saying: here you will catch this will-o-the-wisp, here is the trick and the magic to it.

[Elanorin]

The King drops the iron fragment.

You feel it sizzle as it scorches by your hand, barely missing it.

"I don't need a mutilated servant," he said. You feel the skein of the Wyrd twist around you, binding your oath with magic. This at least, you can both trust. Or, if not trust, be satisfied that betrayal will be met with retribution - and that's as vindicating as trust.

(You phrased the oath well. It doesn't bind you to open-ended servitude, it only binds you to your service with regards to organizing meetings and uncovering traitors. But woe will betide you if you act with sloth on either of those topics.)

"So. Tell me what you know. Tell me what you will do. And tell me how you will do it quickly," said the King. "I cannot abide traitors under my roof."

Lily flinched and pulled back her hand, rubbing it tenderly from the almost-burn. She threw a fearful glance at the coin on the ground, she truly couldn't imagine how much it would have hurt to hold it and she was utterly relieved at having made enough of an impact for the mad Summer King to think to spare her.

The oath twisted itself in to place in the air around her, in the blood within and she knew it was Fact. She hadn't stopped to consider her choice of words when she spoke, they had just come pouring out, now she took a moment to think back to what she'd agreed to and was a little relieved, it could have easily been a whole lot worse. She was bound now, yes, and that in itself was something she'd have to come to terms with, but it was not complete. She could do this. Especially as oaths are both ways. He was bound too. To hold to a truce with her and her friends. No vendettas, no mad accusations. If they truly crossed him, then it might not hold, but it was still a layer of defence they didn't have an hour ago.

"At this moment I do not know a lot, Your Grace. I am newly arrived, what I know is only rumours. That your child has been taken and that the Goblins say you have been betrayed. The more you could share with me about what exactly happened, when and where, the less time I will need to spend determining what facts are accurate and what's just idle gossip." While she imagined his account ought to be taken with at least as much salt as any other, she figured he'd see his own view of events as the Absolute Truth.

"What I intend to do is, with your leave, of course, act as your proxy and coordinator of the court investigations that you ordered last night, Your Grace. Each court is to investigate itself and then report. I will ensure not only that they comply but I will scrutinise each court's investigation and report to you as to it's integrity, thoroughness and transparency. As such any token you could bestow on me to validate my claim that I am acting on Your order would be gratefully received." She was new, and that was not always an advantage. She imagined she'd face a fair amount of resistance and disbelief. Since when did a Winter newcomer act on behalf of the Summer King?

"I will compile a list of suspects, as narrow as possible. To be able to find the exact guilty party I may need either more time or the leave to approach my friends for help. Like you said, there is no magic for retrieving the truth. I have three days, I will spend one day with each court and be finished by the meeting on the 28th. That is, unless you wish me to oversee the Summer Court as well?"

[Anarion]

"Forklift," said Static. "We have to walk."

And walk she begins to do, taking up a scarf that looks like it was knitted by the babushka and wraps it firmly around her face and nose. I do recommend you do something similar because you're going to stink town.

"It'd be simpler if we knew who the King wanted," admits Static.

Aelas takes off her thick knitted sweater, thankful that she took it this morning, and wraps it over on itself a couple times, then folds it over her face and ties the sleeves behind her like a thick woolen scarf. Her hair, wrapped underneath it, creates a sort of glowing effect from within the folds of wool, getting lighter and darker as it shifts.

"Wait, you mean the King doesn't know who did it, or you mean he doesn't even know who was kidnapped?! Like, I'm thinking we find the missing person, and then use that to find the real culprit!"

[Thanqol]

Gladly!

...wait, darn, already used that one.

[With the -2, that takes us to 6 die: 5, 10, 2, 6, 7, 8 (10-again: 6) for a total of 2 successes. Gustav has found himself a minefield and would be wise to backpedal out of it.]

"Rich... in spirit?" said Gustav. "I mean, that's clearly what you're going for here. A place with personality! A place where everybody knows your name! A place that would be the je ne se quois in a town where fine eating means Hungry Jack's or that one Indian place. And who doesn't like to be a big fish, am I right? Pillar of the community? And what's money compared to influence? That's what we're after here, right? What's a sword without a place to hold the sword?" Gustav seems to have talked himself into agreeing with you by way of agreeing with himself. "Anyway what's important is that we're going to make a lot of something."

Finally. It’s done and sealed. The Pilgrim softens, almost imperceptibly, but I’d daresay our friend Jack would notice the way the hiply-dressed man no longer seems quite on edge, quite as driven. Which is not to say he doesn’t still wish to find some way of trapping a gift for the King of Summer- indeed, that should still be done. But no one can steal the gifts of the Freehold from under his attention now; no one can swoop in with a king’s ransom and snatch it from his gnarled hands; no calamity can cause him to miss the auction entirely.

The responsibility, the awareness of how many ways things could go wrong, and for how many people his actions were meant to benefit, how many had sacrificed to win that contract: these things were needles in the bones, pricking him to ill-temper and worry. Now the contract rests against his skin, where it cannot be easily stolen, and slowly warms to the beat of his charcoaled heart.

“Done,” he says, and then, a single nod to the assembled audience. He places one huge hand upon Jack’s shoulder and steers him from the crowd, intent on ambling through the Market until he found something that struck him like anvil and tongs, saying: here you will catch this will-o-the-wisp, here is the trick and the magic to it.

Mercia drew her sword.

"Halt!" declares the Flower Knight, voice ringing out clearly through the rubarb and bringing the Market to a total halt.

"I am Mercia, the Knight of Flowers, bonded slave to the Lover Awaiting," she said. Revealed in her true nature, the mud and dung soaked streets below her armoured boots begins to burst with bright and exotic colours. An emerald carpet extends behind her, like the train of a wedding dress. Flowers real and impressionistic both. "I come to bargain."

After the adjust from their initial shock, the goblins respond with malice and confusion. The crowd lets out a few 'boos' from those safely ensconced in the back, but those at the front keep a wide distance.

She is not in her human form. Bright silks and twisted vines adorn her, and her eyes are vast and owl-like atop a helmet designed for no mortal scalp. A creature of Faerie itself, as bright and terrible as they have ever come.

"I want to purchase the contract you have just won at auction, Pilgrim of the Stolen Stars," she said. "And in exchange I will offer you a single token of my favour, to be used however you see fit."

Instantly the Market bursts into a commotion of frantic whispers and crazed bargaining. A token of the Hunt! Reprieve from the eternal pursuers! It is only short from a favour from the Gentry themselves in terms of sheer value.

What do you do?

Lily flinched and pulled back her hand, rubbing it tenderly from the almost-burn. She threw a fearful glance at the coin on the ground, she truly couldn't imagine how much it would have hurt to hold it and she was utterly relieved at having made enough of an impact for the mad Summer King to think to spare her.

The oath twisted itself in to place in the air around her, in the blood within and she knew it was Fact. She hadn't stopped to consider her choice of words when she spoke, they had just come pouring out, now she took a moment to think back to what she'd agreed to and was a little relieved, it could have easily been a whole lot worse. She was bound now, yes, and that in itself was something she'd have to come to terms with, but it was not complete. She could do this. Especially as oaths are both ways. He was bound too. To hold to a truce with her and her friends. No vendettas, no mad accusations. If they truly crossed him, then it might not hold, but it was still a layer of defence they didn't have an hour ago.

"At this moment I do not know a lot, Your Grace. I am newly arrived, what I know is only rumours. That your child has been taken and that the Goblins say you have been betrayed. The more you could share with me about what exactly happened, when and where, the less time I will need to spend determining what facts are accurate and what's just idle gossip." While she imagined his account ought to be taken with at least as much salt as any other, she figured he'd see his own view of events as the Absolute Truth.

"What I intend to do is, with your leave, of course, act as your proxy and coordinator of the court investigations that you ordered last night, Your Grace. Each court is to investigate itself and then report. I will ensure not only that they comply but I will scrutinise each court's investigation and report to you as to it's integrity, thoroughness and transparency. As such any token you could bestow on me to validate my claim that I am acting on Your order would be gratefully received." She was new, and that was not always an advantage. She imagined she'd face a fair amount of resistance and disbelief. Since when did a Winter newcomer act on behalf of the Summer King?

"I will compile a list of suspects, as narrow as possible. To be able to find the exact guilty party I may need either more time or the leave to approach my friends for help. Like you said, there is no magic for retrieving the truth. I have three days, I will spend one day with each court and be finished by the meeting on the 28th. That is, unless you wish me to oversee the Summer Court as well?"

"I was leading the Court on patrol," he said. "But when I came back, he wasn't there." His teeth clench. You can press him for more information if you want, but that is in a very real sense playing with fire. This is the heart of his trauma and even gentle questions are risky.

The King of Summer rummaged in his pocket, and came out with his government ID badge. It was old and washed out, and depicted the face of a wooden marionette with clockwork jaws - that thing must have been his Fetch, and this must be a trophy from its corpse.

He thrust it at you, aggressively. "Look into everyone. Trust no one."

Aelas takes off her thick knitted sweater, thankful that she took it this morning, and wraps it over on itself a couple times, then folds it over her face and ties the sleeves behind her like a thick woolen scarf. Her hair, wrapped underneath it, creates a sort of glowing effect from within the folds of wool, getting lighter and darker as it shifts.

"Wait, you mean the King doesn't know who did it, or you mean he doesn't even know who was kidnapped?! Like, I'm thinking we find the missing person, and then use that to find the real culprit!"

"Difficult," said Static. "It was his son. Taken by the Fae. Not many people ready to risk going back there."

Would you, Aelas? You came home, but what's the emotion that comes to your mind at the thought of going back?

[Raz_Fox]

The Pilgrim looks this thing in front of him up and down, and grinds those plaster diamonds pasted on his teeth. See, Fairyland's just given him something he knows. Not that he knows her specifically, no, but he knows this scene, this beat, great and terrible and scary swanning in and making demands because they own the spotlight and the authority and the mythos, and all you've got is- well, what you've got doesn't matter, save that it shouldn't belong to you. By all rights and principalities and dominions, it belongs to them. You are nothing. You are the stain of iniquity and the stars will aid in your redemption, each one a cold cinder lighting the skin like tinder under the steel.

"Stolen Stars," he says, almost thoughtfully, but with the bling he looks half urban royalty, half court jester, anyhow. The ink in his tats spills from line to line, shimmering, glittering, spelling out: whosoever inclineth not toward zeal, perseverance, mortification of the flesh, he hath not broken free from the third spirit of bondage, a resplendent compass-mandala enveloping his elbow. His voice grates against the stones which scrape the flesh of his lips. He was not meant to be such, displayed, stood straight-backed, in colors and royal rainment; let the monster wear its weeds and shun the light.

"What else?" What else do you know about me? What else do you think you know about me? Why are you offering me this, and don't think I don't recognize you- where's the other one, lad Longarms? Behind me, lining up the shot? If not me, triggerhairs on Jack? Why do you think I will do this, do you know nothing about me, and are you trying to discover what sort of beast I am? Damned if I do, damned if I don't, you'll know where to pull and where the lines are. Do you think I am a greedy fool, do you think I will hand it over and run so far I cross sea and shore to get away from the people I damn with one bargain, do you simply want me to know I had a chance to save myself before you break out the irons and the fetters and I will die before I let you touch Jack but I think you will kill me and gladly.

I think you will kill me.

You are my death.

There's a thought! Our friend has been broken before, but the fact that he can and will die, that the next time he's pierced and left to hang bloodless on a spire - not to free the center field but because something horrible has come loping back out of the forest and he is in the way - it'll be the last one. There will be time to think about this later, to hang his head in his hands and tremble as the ash-tears fall because he doesn't know whether he's excited or terrified at the thought, but right now there's ice in his veins because his fear's sprouted wings and teeth and rides him like a horse, his heart's thumping ten-gallon beats and the details of her cheek are etched like flagellation into his memory, it's all he can do to hold his face steady and force that runaway train of an emotion forward aimed dead into her inhuman skull.

If you've any sense, Jack, run.

[Anarion]

"Difficult," said Static. "It was his son. Taken by the Fae. Not many people ready to risk going back there."

Would you, Aelas? You came home, but what's the emotion that comes to your mind at the thought of going back?

It's complicated. I mean, really. What do you call the combination of fear and elation? The possibility of joy and the panic of being trapped and a small part of the mind suppressing things that it knows are there but has absolutely zero clue how to handle all mixing together. That's what Aelas is feeling.

"Why does he think that's a kidnapper? Why even a Changeling, and not a Huntsman or a goblin, or just some really awful luck?"
Yes, stall, Aelas, ask other questions, don't volunteer for anything. Definitely don't volunteer for anything, you're not going to give up what you just got back, definitely not.

[stveje]

Jack shrank back from the terrible visage of the Huntress, slipping into the Pilgrim's shadow like a dog behind its master's legs.

His fear of her was soon joined by another fear at her words and the reaction of the Market. If they refused her offer - and what kind of friend would he be if he thought only of himself, and not of others? - it was like painting a target on their backs, was it not? They were holding something of tremendous value all of a sudden, and the whole market knew it - or would soon, the way word gets around. What were the chances they would be walking away without someone trying to cash in on the offer in their place?

Jack looked around, trying to get a sense of the dangers around him - not from the Huntress, for hers was a known danger right now, but from the Market around them.

[Wits+Composure? Investigation?]

Then, still looking over his shoulder, he stepped out - but not too far - from Isaac's shadow. "We didn't win it for ourselves," he says, filling himself and his voice with as much of Winter's ice as he can. "It isn't ours to bargain away."

[Does refusing her offer count as putting himself at risk to provide for someone else (the town)? Asking since that'd be a Willpower regain.]

[Elanorin]

"I was leading the Court on patrol," he said. "But when I came back, he wasn't there." His teeth clench. You can press him for more information if you want, but that is in a very real sense playing with fire. This is the heart of his trauma and even gentle questions are risky.

The King of Summer rummaged in his pocket, and came out with his government ID badge. It was old and washed out, and depicted the face of a wooden marionette with clockwork jaws - that thing must have been his Fetch, and this must be a trophy from its corpse.

He thrust it at you, aggressively. "Look into everyone. Trust no one."

This was... unexpected. In that moment, when he spoke of the day it happened, he seemed almost... vulnerable. Human. Like all the chaotic ego had finally cracked and fallen to the ground, revealing something of the person he'd perhaps once been. Not that she'd thought he was evil through to his core, very few people are. People from the real world, that is. That's why she came here after all, to appeal to whatever shred of humanity was left in him. She just did not expect to actually find it. Worst, by far, she did not expect to feel anything if she did. But there it was, a man who lost his son and hurt so much it broke him. And she felt... bad. Sorry. Even a little ashamed for her ill opinion of him.

She had to think fast to catch the ID as he shoved it at her, unnecessarily harshly. But she didn't mind. She saw why. She held the ID in her hand and angled it a little as she looked at it, her mind filled with questions that needed answers, throwing themselves against a wall of certainty that if she pushed him now there was no predicting how he could erupt and everything they'd just agreed could blow up just like that. Oath or no. He was volatile enough to act long before he'd give himself a chance to think. No, she didn't dare to push him any further right now on this subject. She needed to come at this from a different angle.

"Would you mind if I visited your home in order to gather more information about the crime, Your Grace?"

[Thanqol]

"Stolen Stars," he says.

"What else?"

Is he trying to haggle?

Mercia looked at the Pilgrim askew. She couldn't get a read on him. Did she want to? Was there some hidden world behind those monosyllabic responses that could fill the hole where her heart was? If she broke him on the rack what stories would come tumbling out?

"What else?" she asked, sounding the phrase out. "Well, I could offer you a kiss. Again, to use or trade as suits you."

Jack shrank back from the terrible visage of the Huntress, slipping into the Pilgrim's shadow like a dog behind its master's legs.

His fear of her was soon joined by another fear at her words and the reaction of the Market. If they refused her offer - and what kind of friend would he be if he thought only of himself, and not of others? - it was like painting a target on their backs, was it not? They were holding something of tremendous value all of a sudden, and the whole market knew it - or would soon, the way word gets around. What were the chances they would be walking away without someone trying to cash in on the offer in their place?

Jack looked around, trying to get a sense of the dangers around him - not from the Huntress, for hers was a known danger right now, but from the Market around them.

[Wits+Composure? Investigation?]

[Wits+streetwise is, I think, the proper dice pool to get a read on the scum of the Market. Went ahead and rolled for you]

So Mercia has something that any hob would give his right arm for. It's one of the most valuable currencies the Market can possess - a favour, backed by the bank of a badass huntsman. So why didn't she just drop this coin a bit earlier and win the auction rather than do this staredown thing with you?

Well, you hear it in the fearful lamentations and talon-gnawing of an overweight and molting lion. If Mercia gets her hands on that contract she isn't going to use it for a year. She's just going to destroy it. Permanently removing wealth from the ecosystem of the Market, and removing a deal that drags in a bounty from Prosperpine every year that feeds the Market's hunger. They don't like that, and they don't like her.

But they do all fear her. Not one of them is going to put themselves at risk even slightly. But they're goblins, and not one of them is going to resist the urge to pick the pocket of someone who's fallen down.

Then, still looking over his shoulder, he stepped out - but not too far - from Isaac's shadow. "We didn't win it for ourselves," he says, filling himself and his voice with as much of Winter's ice as he can. "It isn't ours to bargain away."

"Then steal it," said Mercia bluntly. "It's in your hands so it will be easy. Do it, or else I will declare a hunt against you, now."

[Does refusing her offer count as putting himself at risk to provide for someone else (the town)? Asking since that'd be a Willpower regain.]

Sure!

It's complicated. I mean, really. What do you call the combination of fear and elation? The possibility of joy and the panic of being trapped and a small part of the mind suppressing things that it knows are there but has absolutely zero clue how to handle all mixing together. That's what Aelas is feeling.

"Why does he think that's a kidnapper? Why even a Changeling, and not a Huntsman or a goblin, or just some really awful luck?"
Yes, stall, Aelas, ask other questions, don't volunteer for anything. Definitely don't volunteer for anything, you're not going to give up what you just got back, definitely not.

Static paused meaningfully at that question.

"It could be any of those things," she said. "He didn't check."

She looks like she's mulling over the next words carefully, but seems to repeatedly decide against saying something. The vibe you get is that she's a little uncomfortable even seeming to question the King behind his back. If you want to hear her full thoughts there's some sort of roll.

This was... unexpected. In that moment, when he spoke of the day it happened, he seemed almost... vulnerable. Human. Like all the chaotic ego had finally cracked and fallen to the ground, revealing something of the person he'd perhaps once been. Not that she'd thought he was evil through to his core, very few people are. People from the real world, that is. That's why she came here after all, to appeal to whatever shred of humanity was left in him. She just did not expect to actually find it. Worst, by far, she did not expect to feel anything if she did. But there it was, a man who lost his son and hurt so much it broke him. And she felt... bad. Sorry. Even a little ashamed for her ill opinion of him.

She had to think fast to catch the ID as he shoved it at her, unnecessarily harshly. But she didn't mind. She saw why. She held the ID in her hand and angled it a little as she looked at it, her mind filled with questions that needed answers, throwing themselves against a wall of certainty that if she pushed him now there was no predicting how he could erupt and everything they'd just agreed could blow up just like that. Oath or no. He was volatile enough to act long before he'd give himself a chance to think. No, she didn't dare to push him any further right now on this subject. She needed to come at this from a different angle.

"Would you mind if I visited your home in order to gather more information about the crime, Your Grace?"

"Do it," he said tersely. Conveniently, there's an address on the back of the name badge. "I haven't been back," he adds quietly.

For a moment the crown of flame upon his head dims slightly.

Then he snarls and turns around to face the furnace once more.

[Raz_Fox]

There are ways these things are done. Out comes the contract from its hiding-hole against the Pilgrim’s skin, and isn’t it just the center of everyone’s attention all of a sudden? Leaves the Pilgrim just the mark who’s holding it. Center of attention, center of the crowd.

If he were Edmund he could do some speechifying here. Shame the Huntsman for daring to think they would be traitors, for thinking they were cowards. He is not Edmund.

He makes a real big show of replacing it, even as a flash of blue lands upon his shoulders, and Zotzie gives a polite bob of the wings to the Huntsman in her splendor.

The words come out of him, strained and rough, but still: these are words he knows, and knows well.

“Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.”

Where the Pilgrim stands is now a figure of smoke, strands and wisps, with licks of flame and jewels shining from within (for even here the gifts of the Market can be seen), and here and there a blue curl of plumage.

Catch if catch can, for that smoke’s already boiling through the cloud at speed, daring, challenging her to keep up, and if Jack has any sense he’ll bolt in the other direction.

[Elanorin]

"Do it," he said tersely. Conveniently, there's an address on the back of the name badge. "I haven't been back," he adds quietly.

For a moment the crown of flame upon his head dims slightly.

Then he snarls and turns around to face the furnace once more.

Oh.

Her stomach tied a little knot on itself.

"Then... where are you staying? Just... so I know where to find you... to report," Lily asked, trying her damndest to not feel sorry for him.

Then, without knowing why, "While I'm there, is there anything you'd like me to fetch for you, Your Grace?"

[stveje]

Jack is not the one with the contract.

Dragging him around will only slow her down.

She's not going to just kill him.

If he runs, she'll probably chase after the Pilgrim. If she gives chase at all.

If he stays, the same.

He could maybe buy Isaac a bit of time by getting in her way, or ... he could make her think he has the contract and potentially buy Isaac a LOT of time. She already knows him for a thief, and she just voiced the thought herself, making it fresh in her mind. It might just work.

Jack darts right through the smoky trail of the Pilgrim and out the other side, making a show of slipping something down his dress as he makes a run for it. He wants her to see it but think she wasn't supposed to see it (and if the Gobs think it too, all the better). He wants her to think he stole the contract and hoped she wouldn't notice.

It's a dangerous plan. Hopefully he can worm himself out of it, too. That's the next worry, but first ...

[Manipulation+Subterfuge = 6: 4, 8, 8, 3, 5, 10, ten again 1

I think I get to add Mantle because I'm obscuring the truth: 6, 5, 7

Any penalties, just subtract from the end.]

Glamor 3/10
Willpower: 4/4
Clarity: [ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
Health: [ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]

[TheAmishPirate]

"Rich... in spirit?" said Gustav. "I mean, that's clearly what you're going for here. A place with personality! A place where everybody knows your name! A place that would be the je ne se quois in a town where fine eating means Hungry Jack's or that one Indian place. And who doesn't like to be a big fish, am I right? Pillar of the community? And what's money compared to influence? That's what we're after here, right? What's a sword without a place to hold the sword?"

Edmund’s heart turned to frost. He casually reached back to scratch at his head, and anybody with two eyes could see that his strange gesture could be accomplishing any number of things, but relieving an itchy scalp was not one of them. Unless you’d seen him, bedecked in royal finery and ready for blood, you might not realize the prince was reaching for where a sword might be.

He felt something there; a desire, a longing to be in his hand if he’d only just close his fingers and will it so. But importantly, he didn’t feel the hilt. The sword was not on his back, only there in spirit. He could breathe again.

Awful strange turn of phrase that Gustav used there. Maybe...maybe that’s just the way elderly con artists talk around here? And he hadn’t a thing to worry about?

Yeah. This was gonna come back to bite him.

Gustav seems to have talked himself into agreeing with you by way of agreeing with himself. "Anyway what's important is that we're going to make a lot of something."

“Uh...yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly it.” He blinked, nodding. “See, we don’t have a problem.”

...wait, wasn’t that supposed to be Gustav’s line?

“So. When do we start?” Yes, yes, he was totally still in control of this situation, a master negotiator, definitely not scrambling to maintain his hard-won initiative.

[Thanqol]

The words come out of him, strained and rough, but still: these are words he knows, and knows well.

“Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.”

Where the Pilgrim stands is now a figure of smoke, strands and wisps, with licks of flame and jewels shining from within (for even here the gifts of the Market can be seen), and here and there a blue curl of plumage.

Catch if catch can, for that smoke’s already boiling through the cloud at speed, daring, challenging her to keep up, and if Jack has any sense he’ll bolt in the other direction.

Jack darts right through the smoky trail of the Pilgrim and out the other side, making a show of slipping something down his dress as he makes a run for it. He wants her to see it but think she wasn't supposed to see it (and if the Gobs think it too, all the better). He wants her to think he stole the contract and hoped she wouldn't notice.

It's a dangerous plan. Hopefully he can worm himself out of it, too. That's the next worry, but first ...

[Manipulation+Subterfuge = 6: 4, 8, 8, 3, 5, 10, ten again 1

I think I get to add Mantle because I'm obscuring the truth: 6, 5, 7

Any penalties, just subtract from the end.]

Mercia chases neither of you. She stands where she is, firm and tall, and declares ritually: "Jack Gladwin, you have been summoned back to your home and your master. Return. Return. Return or you shall be returned. Ready yourself, bury yourself, hide under the leaves of Autumn for soon the hunt begins."

She plants her sword in the ground and waits.

She's giving you a head start. Formally required to by the protection of Autumn that is the reward for society subjugating itself to kings and courts and the madness of seasons.

She's also declaring relentlessly against you and you alone. Perhaps that's a success.

Oh.

Her stomach tied a little knot on itself.

"Then... where are you staying? Just... so I know where to find you... to report," Lily asked, trying her damndest to not feel sorry for him.

Then, without knowing why, "While I'm there, is there anything you'd like me to fetch for you, Your Grace?"

"I stay in my car. Someone here will know where to find me," said the King. "I don't need anything. Now get out."

[Empathy: success] He is totally lying about that. He for sure needs things. Nothing that will remind him of going back, but you get the impression that he doesn't have many changes of clothes or basic conveniences.

“Uh...yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly it.” He blinked, nodding. “See, we don’t have a problem.”

...wait, wasn’t that supposed to be Gustav’s line?

“So. When do we start?” Yes, yes, he was totally still in control of this situation, a master negotiator, definitely not scrambling to maintain his hard-won initiative.

"When we're finished drinking, obviously!" said Gustav, breaking out a bottle of sparkling Australian white.

Time untethers; you can now drift over the days and weeks of preparation and purchasing to the day you are ready to open your doors.

[TheAmishPirate]

Time untethers; you can now drift over the days and weeks of preparation and purchasing to the day you are ready to open your doors.

Who's coming to take this from me?

That's the thought running through Edmund's head. That's the anxiety that keeps him from sleeping, and sets his fingers to trembling as he gets dressed for the big day. The menu? Bah. Food is food, and he can cook food. The success of opening day? The quality of his employees? Whether or not he's about to lose all his money forever? If he can get to the point in time when those become legitimate fears, then he'll be a happy man.

It had been what; days? Weeks? Weeks of going off-script. His participation in Court functions was at a bare minimum. Most of his free time was absorbed by his own dreams, by his own choice. This was the part of the show where it all fell apart. If ever there was to be a time for the script to rear its head, and pull him back kicking and screaming to the throne, it would be today. Somebody who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, something he couldn't turn away from, and for the fifth time this morning he shut his eyes from the world and filled his head with the sound of his own breathing. And for the first time this morning, he wished he didn't have to make the trip alone.

One bus ride. One half-mile walk. One door.

Time to find out who's writing this story.

[stveje]

Mercia chases neither of you. She stands where she is, firm and tall, and declares ritually: "Jack Gladwin, you have been summoned back to your home and your master. Return. Return. Return or you shall be returned. Ready yourself, bury yourself, hide under the leaves of Autumn for soon the hunt begins."

She plants her sword in the ground and waits.

She's giving you a head start. Formally required to by the protection of Autumn that is the reward for society subjugating itself to kings and courts and the madness of seasons.

She's also declaring relentlessly against you and you alone. Perhaps that's a success.

A head start is a gift not to be wasted. Jack has no intention of being caught, but he didn't get to be the man he is today by putting all his money on one horse. If he can create a fake contract, a forgery, perhaps it can yet be leveraged in case she catches him sooner than he'd like. Right now he needs a place to hide, a place where he can lay low and make such a forgery ... or failing that, someone to sell him a forgery.

[Elanorin]

"I stay in my car. Someone here will know where to find me," said the King. "I don't need anything. Now get out."

[Empathy: success] He is totally lying about that. He for sure needs things. Nothing that will remind him of going back, but you get the impression that he doesn't have many changes of clothes or basic conveniences.

Lily bowed her head at the order and then did a little curtsy. "Your Grace," she said, accepting.

"I will try to acquire a phone as soon as possible, when I do I will pass you my number so you can reach me. In the meantime, I'm staying with The King of Winter, and can be found there."

With that she didn't dare to stay any longer and backed away several steps before she turned and hurried off. Was the nice three-faced man still there with the forklift? If so she'd leap back on, if not she'd try to run back, despite being drenched in sweat already.

[Anarion]

Static paused meaningfully at that question.

"It could be any of those things," she said. "He didn't check."

She looks like she's mulling over the next words carefully, but seems to repeatedly decide against saying something. The vibe you get is that she's a little uncomfortable even seeming to question the King behind his back. If you want to hear her full thoughts there's some sort of roll.

"Is there something else?" Aelas puts a hand on Static's arm. A gentle one, opening herself to touch. "I feel like there's something you're not saying here, and maybe it's important? I really want to help, I promise."

[both manipulation+persuasion and presence+persuasion are the same dice pool, so here's that pool. 7d10=1, 10, 4, 6, 8, 1, 5 and a 1 on the 10 again. 2 successes. ]

[Thanqol]

"Is there something else?" Aelas puts a hand on Static's arm. A gentle one, opening herself to touch. "I feel like there's something you're not saying here, and maybe it's important? I really want to help, I promise."

[both manipulation+persuasion and presence+persuasion are the same dice pool, so here's that pool. 7d10=1, 10, 4, 6, 8, 1, 5 and a 1 on the 10 again. 2 successes. ]

Static looks at you, and it's not the expression you were expecting.

"Breton is an idiot," she said, voice low and boiling with an anger that was concealed under stillness. "He is an emotional train wreck. He is narcissistic and incapable of seeing beyond his own problems. He believes the height of strategy is to get together and ride around on motorcycles. He is a garbageman by trade because he has no education to do anything greater. He is prolonging the season of Summer unnaturally because he fears the coming of Autumn, a secret that will make Autumn nightmarishly powerful when it is exposed. His only claim to rule is based on a single accomplishment in the past. He is a bad ruler. I would make a better ruler. I should rule."

Blue flames lick at the corner of her eyes as she makes eye contact with you. It's the first time she's done this. Static has always been controlled, distant, avoiding direct challenge but now that seems merely a strategy to conceal the intensity of her passions. "I accept your promise of help," she says, and so, by the Wyrd, you are bound.

Careful about what you promise.

Lily bowed her head at the order and then did a little curtsy. "Your Grace," she said, accepting.

"I will try to acquire a phone as soon as possible, when I do I will pass you my number so you can reach me. In the meantime, I'm staying with The King of Winter, and can be found there."

With that she didn't dare to stay any longer and backed away several steps before she turned and hurried off. Was the nice three-faced man still there with the forklift? If so she'd leap back on, if not she'd try to run back, despite being drenched in sweat already.

Hectae has been waiting patiently - he's too good a bloke to leave a nice lady to walk through a literal mountain of garbage by herself. Good thing too, because as soon as you're out of the furnace room the cold autumn wind hits you like a truck. Brr.

But as far as your schedule goes, despite everything happening with the King you've got a date with a Prince. Edmond's bar is due to open right now and you did pledge to go.

Who's coming to take this from me?

That's the thought running through Edmund's head. That's the anxiety that keeps him from sleeping, and sets his fingers to trembling as he gets dressed for the big day. The menu? Bah. Food is food, and he can cook food. The success of opening day? The quality of his employees? Whether or not he's about to lose all his money forever? If he can get to the point in time when those become legitimate fears, then he'll be a happy man.

It had been what; days? Weeks? Weeks of going off-script. His participation in Court functions was at a bare minimum. Most of his free time was absorbed by his own dreams, by his own choice. This was the part of the show where it all fell apart. If ever there was to be a time for the script to rear its head, and pull him back kicking and screaming to the throne, it would be today. Somebody who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, something he couldn't turn away from, and for the fifth time this morning he shut his eyes from the world and filled his head with the sound of his own breathing. And for the first time this morning, he wished he didn't have to make the trip alone.

One bus ride. One half-mile walk. One door.

Time to find out who's writing this story.

The first person through the door is an exhausted looking mother of three, kids in tow, saying "I heard this place has a daycare,"

Maybe leaving the marketing campaign to Gustav wasn't your bestest move.

A head start is a gift not to be wasted. Jack has no intention of being caught, but he didn't get to be the man he is today by putting all his money on one horse. If he can create a fake contract, a forgery, perhaps it can yet be leveraged in case she catches him sooner than he'd like. Right now he needs a place to hide, a place where he can lay low and make such a forgery ... or failing that, someone to sell him a forgery.

When people run away in the Market, the goblins don't get out of their way. You've got three goblins running alongside you, each huffing and puffing red-faced and trying to sell you on hiding places, magical shoes that will let you jump over the moon, an Apple Watch that will tell you how many steps you need to run for before you get away, and any other way they can cram a bargain down the throat of a motivated seller. What are you offering?

*

Mercia stands quietly in the market square. After a little while she pulls a newspaper out of her bag and starts reading it.